


I will always sing for you

by eldritcher



Series: The Prometheus Triptych [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abraxas Malfoy is dying, Voldemort has returned to the country, there is a mystery behind the famous Malfoy cane and Lucius strives to understand why his father would rather have a Dark Lord by his deathbed instead of his son</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will always sing for you

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last piece of the Prometheus Triptych.

**I will always sing for you**

"Lucius?"

"Nothing, Papa," I said softly, trying to keep my emotions under rein. It was difficult. His face, with its unsightly blotches and puffiness, made me think of hooligans throwing cans of red paint over masterpieces of art.

"You should be out courting the girl," he said disapprovingly.

My parents' marriage had been a soft, silent failure. There had been words only at my mother's funeral, fifteen years ago, when Papa had kissed her cold forehead and whispered, "You poor, poor girl."

They had not hated each other. I did not think either of them had betrayed their wedding vows. They were too gentle and respectable for that. But the marriage had been a failure all the same. Now Papa had great hopes for my union with Narcissa. He only wished that he might live to see the marriage ceremony.

"Our Lord has allowed my request that you be granted a few weeks of absence after the marriage. I have sent word to our housekeeper at Rheims."

Not for the first time, I wondered why Papa was so insistent that Narcissa and I spend our honeymoon away from home. I did not want to leave while he was in such a state. I was not a patient nurse by any measure. I left the cleaning, the scouring, the feeding and other tasks to the House Elves, only popping in now and then to ascertain his state. But my mind rested easy in that I was near, at hand, if he needed me. Why was he keen to send me to Rheims for weeks? Could he get by with only the House Elves to aid him?

"Severus has promised to come by," he informed me, correctly interpreting my silence.

I snorted. "Papa, Severus is worse than I am when it comes to bedside manners," I reminded him. Severus had tried Vanishing the pox, for pity's sake.

"True," Papa conceded. "But I can have him send word to St. Mungo's if there is need. Besides, Bellatrix has said she will visit."

I stared at him in horror. "Papa, you surely don't expect me to agree to that!" I said, frightened. "That woman is insane. I wouldn't trust her by her father's sickbed, far less yours! I will issue strict injunctions to the House Elves that nobody other than Severus and those he endorses are to be allowed entry while I am away."

The most curious expression flashed across my father's face. I tried to place it in vain. A House Elf came in then, and with much caterwauling announced that I was required at the Ministry. I patted Papa's hand and left.

* * *

Young Severus was my father's favourite among my associates. Papa had made provisions for him to brew potions from our barn. I often called my father out on his blatant patronage of Severus, but never truly in earnest since I liked the boy myself. There was _something_ about him that appealed to me. Was it his rude frankness or his emotional vulnerability or his ruthless intelligence?

"If you don't stop dreaming about Narcissa's cunt, that is going to blow up in your face, Malfoy."

I turned off the flame under the cauldron. Calming Draught. I seemed to be consuming that in gallons these days.

Severus was shooting me curious looks over his cauldron, no doubt wondering why I needed the draught so often. His crudeness had surprised me at first, but I had become used to it and given up hope of taming that tongue. My father had laughed when he heard Severus speaking for the first time. I had been shocked. Papa despised crudeness and vulgarity. Later, Papa had remarked to me that Severus's style of speaking reminded him of an old friend. Perhaps that was why Papa indulged him so.

"Now, Severus, if you talk like that, I am going to think you are jealous because you aren't getting any," I told him.

"I am getting plenty, not that it is any of your damn business," he growled.

I looked at him. He looked unusually content, the kind of content that only sex brought Severus. He must have returned to his favourite Muggle club in Soho with the aid of Polyjuice. That was a nasty place. Stank of disease and desperation. I sighed. It had taken weeks of chiding before I could wean him away from there the last time. Right now, with my nuptials nearing and my father on his sickbed, I did not have the energy to reason with Severus.

"Use protection," I told him.

"Your old man's got something in his bonnet," Severus changed the topic swiftly. "What do you reckon?"

"I am not sure," I admitted. "He is keen to have me away after the wedding."

"Doesn't fancy hear you fucking the missus into the mattress," Severus said sagely.

"Since you are a hormonal teenager who can think only about sex, I will overlook this," I said calmly. "And for pity's sake, Severus, keep a civilised tongue when you are in conference with the Lord. He is a stickler for manners."

"When will I meet him?" he asked, his mood brightening immediately.

"Soon," I said vaguely.

I blamed my father for the boy's enthusiasm. Papa had filled his young head with tales of glory and revenge. I had tried to tell Severus that he might need to think more about the matter before meeting the Lord. I had not had a choice, not with my father's pure devotion to the Lord. This had been the case for most of my peers, whose parents were heavily involved in the Lord's cause. But Severus was different. If he joined, he would be joining of his own accord, and not because he was bound by legacy and honour. I feared that he was too young and brash, spurred by typical adolescent recklessness. Was he choosing this to seek revenge for the wrongs that had been done to him? If so, his trust in our Lord would wane as his hotheadedness fizzled away with age and wisdom. Was he choosing this because he believed in the cause? Then our Lord would be pleased and I would be relieved.

"This is done for now," he said, stepping back from his cauldron.

"Well, then, come inside and eat something. You look like a scarecrow," I said sternly. Narcissa suspected that Severus suffered from some wasting disease. The dear girl had a fanciful imagination.

He hummed agreement. We had stepped out and he was locking the barn door with a peculiar mix of illegal warding spells. I sincerely hoped that he did not use those at Hogwarts.

We were ambling along the garden path when Severus said softly, "This place, Lucius. Was it always like this?"

"Care to elaborate?"

"As creepy and cold and silent as my father's grave," he said.

I chuckled at the analogy. His father's death in a drunken brawl had not surprised anyone who knew the man. They did not know the truth. I had acted, after one time too many when he had ended up on my doorstep, shivering and sobbing – _sniveling_ , the Black boy might have called it – and cradling his broken arm close to his chest. There had been cigarette burns on his face and bruises discolouring his throat as if someone had tried to throttle him. _Enough_ , I had decided then. I had killed before, more than once, at my Lord's command. To do this for Severus took nothing from me while he gained some measure of peace. I did not regret it. My concern for the boy's wellbeing was unusual in that I was not a caring man by nature. I chose to make alliances only when they would profit me. Aiding Severus gained me nothing except his loyalty. That was reason enough, I supposed. I had not met anyone as fiercely loyal as Severus was. The Hat would have sorted him into Hufflepuff if it had not seen his yearning for knowledge and power. He might have been happier in the house of the faithful.

"It is curious, you know," Severus murmured. "This place is eerie. Lifeless. Even so, it is the happiest summer I have had."

He was sixteen. Gangly, spotty, stooped and ugly. It would take time before he grew into his limbs and gained confidence enough to leave that hunched posture. Even so, with his gleaming black eyes and awkward grin, he was the happiest sixteen-year-old I had seen. I shook my head, wondering that he could be made happy by so little.

Patting his arm, I said firmly, "The first of many summers, Severus. Now come and say hello to Papa before we go to the dining chamber."

"Is he how a father is meant to be?" Severus asked, voice brimming with curiosity, as he matched his pace to mine.

Taking the boy under my wing had proven a learning experience. He asked questions I had never thought about. He made me _think_. While his tormentors in Slytherin had quelled his curiosity in classes with their taunting, he never tired of posing questions to those who were patient with him. So many _whys_ and _hows_. Papa indulged him. So did I. People like Bellatrix and Walden did not have the patience for that.

"Lucius?"

"I haven't given a thought to how a father ought to be," I admitted. Papa had been there in his study, a distant patron, all my life. Before I had started school, there had been a Nanny. During my Hogwarts years, I would report my grades to Papa. After finishing my studies, I had started at the Ministry. Fathers of my friends were disciplinarians, bonded with their sons over Quidditch and wine, and took a keen interest in their careers. Had I wanted Papa to be like that? I had never thought about it.

* * *

We had reached Papa's door. I knocked and entered. Severus followed me. Papa was seated in his armchair by the window. Had he asked one of the House Elves to shift the chair? He had been at his desk earlier. There was a glint of liveliness in his soft blue eyes. I was pleasantly surprised. He rarely took interest in anything since he had fallen sick. Then I saw the tall cloaked figure standing before the fire. The fire was rarely lit in the summer. In fact, it was lit only on occasions when Papa had a special guest.

"My lord," I murmured, curtseying to the man. I threw a sharp glance at Severus, who was staring at the Lord with his typical curiosity. The boy dropped his gaze to the ground and made an awkward bow.

"This must be the boy from Yorkshire," the Lord said, turning half-about and letting his scarlet eyes rove over Severus.

I had been five when I first saw the Lord. It had been in this same room. I had made a House Elf stand on its fours while I stood on its back so that I could be high enough to peep through the keyhole. I had been desperately curious to see who my father's secret guest might be. I had seen a pale, handsome man with black hair sleeping in Papa's armchair by the fire. Papa was standing behind the chair and gazing down with a most curious expression. Then the House Elf had lost balance and the resulting clatter had Papa rushing to the door. The House Elf had been dismissed to the kitchens. Papa had then checked me over for injuries. Seeing there were none, he had softly chided me on my foolishness. Papa rarely raised his voice to anyone.

"Let me see him," had said the stranger who must have been woken up by the noise.

Papa had stepped aside then.

"Why does he have red eyes?" I had asked, moving closer to Papa. Rabbits had red eyes.

"Curious boy," the stranger had remarked. Then he had waved his hand and soft music filled the air. I had looked at Papa, feeling drowsy and lazy. He had been smiling at the stranger. The last thing I was aware of had been floating on air – but I was not a bird - and alighting on the couch.

"Such a tenacious little thing," the stranger had said. Papa had chuckled at that. I did not remember anything after that.

Severus had stepped closer to me. Seeking protection? There was no need. Papa was here to speak for him. In fact, all things considered, I considered this coincidental meeting a stroke of fortune. Let Severus realise what he was getting into. After seeing the Lord and a fraction of his power, if the boy was not frightened and if he still persisted in seeking to join the Death Eaters, I would not attempt to dissuade him.

"You are sixteen, are you not?" the Lord asked.

"Yes, Sir," Severus replied. Then he blurted, "I want to join."

The Lord made a noncommittal noise and moved closer. He had lost weight since the last time I had seen him. He must have been travelling to cold climes again. Cold weather affected him severely.

"I want to join," Severus repeated, excited and impatient.

"I am not hard of hearing," the Lord remarked.

Severus bit his lip and looked at me. Patience was not one of his virtues. I glared at him, willing him to be silent.

"Come to me when you are twenty," the Lord said.

I was relieved. Hopefully, Severus would be wise enough to understand the stakes by then. The Lord was rumoured to be insane, but he had a practical enough head on his shoulders when it came to matters as induction and strategy.

"Why?" Severus asked, shocked. "I will be out of Hogwarts the next year. Can't I join you then? Please? I can prove myself."

The Lord smiled then, and glanced at Papa.

"He is young," Papa admitted. "But he very much wants this, my lord."

"He is too young to know what is right for him, isn't he?" the Lord mused. "Let him stand before me in four years and say the same."

Severus made to speak again, but Papa interrupted saying, "He wishes to specialise in Dark Arts and Potions."

"Do you play, Severus?" the Lord asked.

Severus looked at me in surprise. I smiled at him. He had not believed me when I told him of the Dark Lord's eccentricities.

"No, I don't," Severus answered. "What bearing does that have on the matter of my candidacy to be one of your own?"

"Too many questions," the Dark Lord said. "Very well, Severus, I can apprentice you to a proficient wizard on the Continent. Learn what you can from him. When you return, meet me. I will test you. If I am pleased, I shall induct you into my ranks on your twentieth birthday."

"Why won't you accept me before then?" Severus demanded, scowling, all adolescent peevishness. "Lucius joined you when he was sixteen. So did Bella. Evan, in my year, is going to join you this summer too. "

The Dark Lord walked to join Papa by the window, indicating that the conversation was over. I placed my hand on Severus's wrist and guided him out.

"Stay, Lucius," the Lord called out.

"Yes, my lord." I turned to Severus, who was sulking, and said, "Ask the Elves for food. I will meet you in the dining room. And no eavesdropping."

"I am not a bloody child!" he exclaimed, wounded.

He was not a child. However, he was a very difficult teenager. I suppressed a smile and waved him off. After he had stormed away, I slipped back inside.

"A difficult boy, isn't he?" the Dark Lord asked. He looked amused.

"Well, yes. He tends to ask too many questions," confessed Papa. "Having Severus here has made Lucius the responsible adult."

"Young Severus is talented. If he learns control, he will be quite powerful," the Dark Lord stated his opinion. "And he has the fingers for music. Abraxas, find a way to make him take up some instrument, will you?"

"He will probably take up the clarinet, just to spite you for not letting him join," Papa remarked dryly. "I will see what I can do. Have you supped?"

When they did not have an audience that mattered, they were frighteningly informal in their interactions. It did not suggest friendship, but it suggested something more than the deference of a slave towards the master.

"Not yet," the Dark Lord said. "I cannot join you today. I have a standing engagement with Orion."

Papa looked displeased. The Lord addressed me, "Lucius, please make sure that the House Elves will not impede my comings and goings during the period when you shall be at Rheims."

I remembered Papa's strange expression when I had mentioned restricting access to the House. The air was heavy, not only with the Lord's magic, but also with my father's weariness. I looked at my father, who was frowning as he took in the Dark Lord's gauntness. Papa himself looked frail and ghostly. It was more will than health which kept him in the land of the living now. He would die before I returned from Rheims. I gulped.

"I will be in the country," the Dark Lord said abruptly. "Now I will have to leave lest I be late for my dinner engagement."

Papa's eyes were fixed on him as he stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a burst of green flames.

"About Rheims, Papa-"

A House Elf announced visitors. There had been a constant influx of dignitaries and well-wishers ever since Papa's illness had been written about in the Prophet. Usually, I would meet them since Papa was too ill for visitors.

"Show them in," Papa said.

It was Dumbledore and McGonagall. They presented an incongruous sight, what with his lurid yellow robes and her respectable tartan.

"Professor Dumbledore, Minerva!" Papa exclaimed. "Do come in."

I hated both the teachers. But Papa got along with them, just as he got along with most other people he interacted with. It was often said among our acquaintances that the Malfoy insolence had bypassed a generation. Papa took after his mother's side while I was the spitting image of my grandfather, Hyperion Malfoy.

After our guests had seated themselves, I called for tea. Then I poured three cups, handed them to the guests and my father, and took up position by Papa's side.

"I have nominated Lucius for my place on the Board of Hogwarts," Papa said.

"The nomination will be seen through," Dumbledore replied. His eyes were concerned and assessing as he took in my father's frailty. "There are enough in favour of your son succeeding you on the Board."

Was he implying he was not of their number? McGonagall's lips were pursed. She had no fondness for me.

"That cane is very finely made. May I have a closer look at it?" Dumbledore asked.

He was looking at the cane resting on Papa's lap. The cane was warm and heavy. Papa had always carried it with him. Though he had become confined to the armchair and his bed, he still kept the cane with him at all times. It was a standing joke at social events, where the bouncers would announce "Abraxas Malfoy and his cane" to rousing laughter from the audience. Papa would smile and show off his cane with a saucy wink.

"You may," Papa said graciously, and handed over the cane to Dumbledore. The Headmaster held it in his hands and hummed. Then he smiled all of a sudden, and looked up at Papa, who was watching him closely.

"It is a most curious artifact, is it not? How did you come by it?"

Papa had never told me that story. Nor had I thought to ask. Severus often asked, but Papa would only shake his head and change the subject.

"A gift from a well-wisher," Papa said. His gaze was sharper now as he looked at Dumbledore, who was sliding his wand-tip down the smooth length of the cane.

"Curious, most curious," Dumbledore said. McGonagall frowned and peered at the cane, trying to identify what had stirred Dumbledore's curiosity. I suppressed a snort. Papa had carried that cane everywhere for decades. It was a vanity, just as Fudge had his bowler hats.

"Bulgarian make, if I am not wrong," Dumbledore was saying. "It is the craftsmanship of the late Ginchev."

"Ginchev made broom-sticks," I interrupted, sorely tried by Dumbledore's nonsensical conversation. "We have one of his creations showcased in our Quidditch display room. He had made it for Papa in 1942."

"Why, yes, he did, young Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore allowed. "He was also known to craft the occasional souvenir for the right price."

Was there a purpose to this? I was reminded of why I disliked Dumbledore so. He flaunted his control over men, situations and conversations by making us endure his meandering lectures. Even the Dark Lord's musings were comparatively easier to follow.

"Dumbledore, you may just ask what it is you wish to know," Papa commented mildly.

"The grapevine says that Riddle has returned to our country," Dumbledore said. His eyes were no longer twinkling. Instead they were blazing and calculative. "Do you truly think that your son will be safe after the inevitable?"

What were they speaking of? I could ask Papa later. Meanwhile, there was the Headmaster's insolence to consider. I drew myself to my full height, prepared to take vociferous offence to Dumbledore's insinuation that Papa's death was inevitable. It was, but Dumbledore had no right to speak of it before Papa.

Dumbledore silenced me then, with his power bearing down upon me inexorably. I began to sweat. The Dark Lord did not make us face the brunt of his power unless he lost control of his temper. I had witnessed it once. That sorry victim had _suffered_.

"Don't," Papa said sternly. "My father taught me it is rude to do magic under another man's roof unless you have permission to."

McGonagall placed her palm on Dumbledore's wrist and he released me from his silent spell.

"My son is old enough to take care of himself," Papa said quietly. "You should be more concerned about your charges, Dumbledore. If you wanted to keep that werewolf a secret, you should have taken the precaution of having the victim's scars healed."

"I heard that you have taken the Snape boy under your wing," Dumbledore remarked. "Half-blood, unpleasant childhood, impoverished, oddball and remarkably brilliant. The attributes remind me of someone else, Abraxas."

Papa's eyes widened. He glanced at the cane once before meeting Dumbledore's gaze calmly and saying, "True enough. At least, I tried to aid them both. What have you done for them?"

"He does not have friends. He has no need for them," Dumbledore said softly. "You are not an exception."

"You might be right. It does not matter now," Papa said. "It has never mattered, I suppose. I knew what he was. My choice was not blind."

Dumbledore did not reply, handing over the cane silently. They took their leave of Papa and I showed them out. When I reached the dining chamber, Severus was there.

"And he tells me, _Mr._ _Snape,_ _convey_ _my_ _condolences_ _to_ _your_ _mother._ _She_ _truly_ _loved_ _him_." Severus started pacing. "How dare he? The old bugger must have known that she fucking suffered when _he_ was alive!"

"Do lower your volume, Severus," I said. "Papa has had enough excitement for the day."

Severus looked all set to stew in misery. To take his mind off Dumbledore's callous words, I told him about the cane.

"Why are you surprised? Severus asked. "It is a special cane, Lucius. Can't you feel the Dark Lord's magic smothering it?"

I scoffed, saying, "I know the feel of Lord's magic, Severus. The cane does not bear that mark."

"Think, Lucius," Severus said.

I thought upon it. Severus was perceptive. The Dark Lord's magic was distinctive and I had no doubts that Severus had not failed to register it when the Lord had spoken to him earlier.

"The Lord's magic is raw," I said slowly. "The cane is warm and reassuring to hold."

"He might have intended it to be so," Severus said. "He likes your father."

I rolled my eyes. The concept of the Dark Lord _liking_ someone was past fathoming.

"He is not a fucking Dementor, Lucius," Severus said helpfully. "He is just a powerful man."

Severus oversimplified everything.

* * *

"I want you to have this cane," Papa said softly, the eve before my marriage. He looked as if he were lingering in death's antechamber.

The cane which both Severus and Dumbledore suspected that the Dark Lord had given Papa. I touched it. It was as reassuring and warm as always. Firecrackers went off in the gardens and I could hear Severus and Evan whooping in delight. Evan had a child's love for firecrackers. As for Severus, he was floating on the high of enjoying so many pleasant, new experiences. No doubt that he would have an impressive _funk_ when the excitement died down. I was torn between relief and worry since I would not be here to talk him out of that.

The Malfoy marriage was to be a spectacle. Narcissa's parents had wanted a more exclusive ceremony, but Papa had disagreed, saying that he had only one son and he wanted this marriage to be remembered. Had his marriage been celebrated like this? Had the Dark Lord attended that event? It was difficult to imagine the Lord attending any society function. Had the exquisitely crafted cane been a wedding gift?

"What is it?" Papa asked me.

"Why did he give you the cane?"

It was a strange night. There were raucous cries of merriment in the gardens. Sparkling fireworks tried to outshine the plaid, quarter-moon and the glittering stars. Papa and I were cooped inside his study. The fireplace was lit and the candles remained unused this night. It was easier to pretend that Papa was well in the dark cast of his profile outlined by the fire. It was easier to find the courage to ask him about the cane and about the man who had given it. This night was different. I would not see Papa in his study again like this. Tomorrow I would marry Narcissa and then we would go to Rheims. We would not see Papa alive again.

"Such an eldritch night," Papa whispered. His wobbly hand came to rest on my knee. "You are a fine young man, Lucius. You remind me of my father, you know. Strong and cunning. I am proud of you. Do well by the girl and by your children. Make sure that Severus stays alive to celebrate his fiftieth birthday."

"What does he mean to you?" I beseeched, the strangeness of the night undoing my usual reserve and disinclination to make private enquiries.

He laughed weakly.

"Papa?"

"Everything, Lucius." His eyes gleamed madly in the firelight. "Riddle is everything to me. And despite what Dumbledore or others might say, Riddle has been kind to me, as kind as it is in him to be. He has allowed me to cling to life until I see you wed. His magic keeps me alive now just as this cane has comforted me all these years. My father died when I was sixteen, Lucius. His last gift to me had been a Ginchev broom. I taught Riddle flying on that. He returned to me after his travels five years later and gave me this cane."

I knew I could not take all this in immediately. I would need days to consider the implications of Papa's deathbed confession.

"Why do you want me to have the cane?"

"I can't take it with me, can I? Besides, I want you to remember. I want _someone_ to remember that Riddle understands love, even if he cannot feel it himself."

"Will he be here after I leave?" I asked hesitantly. The image of Papa dying alone with only House Elves by his side haunted my nightmares.

"His word is bond," Papa said. His eyes were distant as he gazed into the fire. "Severus is strong enough, you know. That is why I wanted Severus to join before I died. So that I could explain the situation to him. You will have to help the boy, Lucius. It is important, for everyone's sake. The Dark Lord's grip on reality is fragile. He needs to be reminded of it regularly by someone strong enough to put up with his eccentricities."

Had this been the reason why Papa had been so indulgent to Severus? Righteous anger rose in me. Severus was too loyal, too intense and too sensitive for this role. He would not last. How could Papa even think of putting him in such an unenviable position?

"Do not presume familiarity with the Dark Lord on the basis of tonight's revelations," Papa warned. "Be as loyal and deferring as you were."

"I would not dare speaking a word of this to anyone else," I said frankly. Perhaps I might confide in Severus when he had matured enough. I could not speak of this to anyone else.

The fireplace glowed green. I rose from my chair as the Dark Lord entered the room, dusting off his robes. Was it simply my imagination or did he look taller? In his left hand, he clutched a dark bottle.

"You are early!" Papa exclaimed. The low light cast by the fire did not illuminate the Dark Lord's features, but his voice was long-suffering when he said, "Good evening, Malfoy."

He still called my father by surname while he addressed me by my given name. How strange. Then again, everything about him was strange.

"You may leave, Lucius," Papa said. I looked at him one last time, etching his fire-lit profile into my mind.

"Goodnight, Papa. Goodnight, my lord."

As I slipped out, I heard Papa exclaiming, "You didn't!"

"I _am_ good at Transfiguration," his guest said wryly.

I walked away from there, wondering what the Lord had done to excite Papa so, and unable to help a smile at the joy in Papa's voice.

"Lucius!" It was Evan. "Severus is drunk. He has Transfigured all the peacocks into pigs."

To this day, the sight of Bellatrix being chased by white pigs remains my preferred choice of memory while conjuring my Patronus.

* * *

I returned from Rheims a happy husband and a grieving son. Narcissa comforted me with her quiet words and soft touches as we travelled up the drive in a carriage.

Severus stood before the large manor entrance door. He was wearing black and his face betrayed his tiredness and melancholy.

"I am glad that you are here, Lucius," he whispered, before descending the steps rapidly and enfolding me in a tight, inexperienced hug.

Papa was dead. Why was Severus here then? Worried for his welfare and struggling with grief, I tried to make sense of this. His hold was suffocating. I patted his back gently and disengaged us from the embrace.

"The lord is waiting for you by the east border of the estate," he murmured. "He did not allow me to leave the estate. He has been in a fey mood. I don't know how to explain it. Evan is right. That man is mad."

I looked at Narcissa. She took charge and said briskly, "Come in, Severus. We can talk over tea and scones."

He looked lost. So she caught his arm and gently guided him inside. I smiled at the sight and tore my eyes away from the pleasing curves of her form. I was besotted, wasn't I? Just as Papa had predicted. Papa. I look a deep breath and made my way through the gardens, to the east border.

* * *

Where there had been only a desolate copse of trees, there were now wild bluebells covering every inch of the ground. The Lord stood in the middle of the wood, and the sunlight through the canopy of trees lent his pale features a shade of gold.

"My lord?"

"He was interred here," he said. He waved his hand and invisible bells chimed in the air, ringing in tidings of death and partings. I closed my eyes and let the soft, serene music wash over me.

If it had been any other day, I would not have dared ask. But grief had numbed my fear and I queried softly, "Did he like bluebells?"

The music faded into the evening breeze. Then he said thoughtfully, "Bluebells grow wild and free. Your father was fond of everything that was wild and free."

I did not know what to say. I imagined my father, all of sixteen, teaching the Lord to fly on a Ginchev broom. I remembered the softness of his expression whenever he had looked at our mad Lord.

There, standing in the dappled sunlight, tall and pale and alien and insane, our Lord represented all that was wild and free.

 _Your_ _father_ _was_ _fond_ _of_ _everything_ _that_ _was_ _wild_ _and_ _free_.

* * *

A week later, Severus and I cleared out Papa's study. Halfway through, he made an exclamation of surprise. I hurried to his side, only to find his fingers carefully tracing verses in an old Muggle poetry book. It was evident that Papa had traced those verses with his fingers again and again, for the page was near translucent with use.

"I had not known that Papa had a fondness for Muggle poetry," I remarked. Severus did not reply. I leaned over his shoulder and read the verses aloud.

My brother, more beloved than life, will I never  
look at you again? Certainly, I will always love you,  
I will always sing for you, my songs saddened by your death.

There was a man interred in a field of wild bluebells. There was a man who they claimed did not understand love.

Severus sighed and gently closed the book. We did not speak of it ever after.

* * *

_The verses at the end are from Catallus._


End file.
